It’s
like a child drawing five point stars on blue
construction paper and looking up at the sky knowing
it didn’t pinpoint its edges so meticulously but rather
bloomed into motion, pulling the universe taught against its edges.
That’s the foot, unbound in hot reality.
it didn’t pinpoint its edges so meticulously but rather
bloomed into motion, pulling the universe taught against its edges.
That’s the foot, unbound in hot reality.
Five
toes sprawl out toward every pitch of the earth
my heel presses like cheese up against the ball
skin peeling all over.
my heel presses like cheese up against the ball
skin peeling all over.
I
would not endure the pain of it;
not the pain of the foot, of the toes broken and fighting against
its own flesh. I could not bear the mother
whose feet are hidden in the silk of their erotic dream,
yet watches her daughter leave the earth as a woman
as a tree branching out, transcending, inhaling ice and feathers.
not the pain of the foot, of the toes broken and fighting against
its own flesh. I could not bear the mother
whose feet are hidden in the silk of their erotic dream,
yet watches her daughter leave the earth as a woman
as a tree branching out, transcending, inhaling ice and feathers.
